Rake Most Likely to Thrill. Bronwyn Scott

Any worries he might have entertained that his perception of her beauty had been influenced by the night and the lighting were immediately banished. Her black hair was neatly coiffed beneath a straw hat that showed her profile to advantage; the curve of her jaw, the firm jut of her chin. She wore an exquisitely tailored riding habit done in blue. The white of her lacy jabot stood in striking contrast from the dark fabric, but even from here Archer could see that the jabot was loose, the neck of her blouse undone against the warmth of the day. She walked arm in arm with her cousin, stopping now and then to watch the horses and comment to their host. Archer imagined he could catch hints of her laughter. But thoughts of Elisabeta had to be set aside until later. There was work to do now. Pranza, or lunch, was to be served only after everyone had viewed the horses. There would be time to meet her then. He could possibly manoeuvre a place beside her at the table, perhaps a walk after the meal while his uncle conducted the rest of his business.

      Archer’s blood began to hum with the knowledge of her presence and with plans. He let a smile of satisfaction spread across his face. Today was shaping up quite nicely in terms of his goals. His uncle had been impressed with his story about Amicus and Elisabeta was here, standing a hundred yards away.

       Chapter Seven

      He was here! Elisabeta felt his eyes on her before she dared look for him. She didn’t want to be disappointed. She didn’t want to look up and see that she was mistaken, that her fanciful imagination had simply made up a girlish whimsy. You couldn’t really feel someone looking at you and if you did it was unlikely to be the man of your dreams—for her literally the man of her dreams the last two nights. It was unlikely the man she’d been thinking of nonstop had suddenly materialised at a Tuscan horse farm. Her life didn’t work that way. She wasn’t that lucky. And yet, the illusion she was indeed that lucky was a pleasant one. She could maintain it if she didn’t look up. She shouldn’t look, she wouldn’t look. Looking would shatter it. She would not commit the Orphean crime of looking.

      She looked.

      He was watching her.

      She blinked in the sun and then feared the image would disappear. Perhaps she’d only seen him because she’d wanted to see him standing there. No, that was him. It was definitely him. She’d recognise that nut-brown hair skimming his collar, the set of his jaw and that kissable mouth anywhere, even at a distance.

      Their host had left them to see to other guests and she was aware of Giuliano watching her too. Elisabeta averted her gaze, careful to school her features. A suspicion took root. ‘Did you know he would be here?’ She thought of Giuliano’s request that she join him on this visit.

      ‘It was guesswork only,’ was all Giuliano would admit. ‘We should go in for pranza.’ He grinned and took her arm. ‘I’m hungry, how about you?’

      She was undeniably hungry. She only hoped forbidden fruit was on the menu. If it was, would she eat of it? All her hypotheses were about to be tested. She had a chance to see him again. Would she pursue it? Why did it seem to matter so much?

      The meal was laid out at a long table beneath the trees for shade. Michele di Stefano’s wife had outdone herself. There was a white cloth on the table, and an abundance of food; bowls of fresh pasta, trays of round mounds of mozzarella and sliced tomatoes, bowls of olives and loaves of bread to dip in the dishes of olive oil. And of course there was wine, the rich local red wine of the region.

      Perhaps it was all in an effort to impress Pantera, Elisabeta thought. Pantera had won the Palio. It would be good to be in their favour. Or perhaps it was to impress the influential capitano of Torre and his nephew.

      Elisabeta allowed her eyes to land on Archer as they took their seats. He had not been able to finagle the seat beside her. Giuliano had seen to it that it wasn’t possible. ‘It is better for your reputation,’ he murmured, but she could hear the laughter beneath his words. He understood the irony of having arranged this opportunity only to keep her from Archer at the meal. ‘Make him watch you, build his anticipation and wait for your moment,’ Giuliano coached quietly.

      ‘I can’t decide if I love you or hate you,’ Elisabeta said quietly, sliding into her seat at the benches lining the long the table.

      Giuliano winked. ‘You love me, Cousin.’

      Elisabeta lowered her voice. ‘I’ll let you know after lunch.’ She eyed Archer surreptitiously over the rim of her wine glass. Lunch was going to be...interesting.

      * * *

      ‘Would you like to go for a ride?’ The question caught Elisabeta off guard, just when she’d thought she had successfully navigated lunch. She coughed and the wine she’d swallowed nearly made a reappearance in a most unladylike fashion.

      ‘On a horse?’ Her reply came out with a slight rasp as she dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. What was Archer thinking to make such a bold reference? Perhaps the real question was what was she thinking to infer the nuance was there to begin with? Lunch had been a polite, careful affair with conversation drifting between talk of horses and of goings-on in town. Both parties were careful not to give away too much while still appearing to be friendly.